


Just A Dance

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Series: All That Jazz [3]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: 1930'S Nightclub AU, 1930's AU, Chanteuse, Dance of Romance, First Dance, Mobster AU, Nightclub AU, UST, butterfly bog, mob boss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4471754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marianne does some rescuing of her own, and ends up in a situation with a certain Mob Boss that is far more dangerous than she could have ever contemplated...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Dance

Marianne perched on one of the barstools, crossing her legs as smooth as you please in a manner decidedly went against proper decorum, her smoky eyes alight with interest on the scene unfolding before her.  “What’s the story here?” 

Stuff and Thang groaned and sighed respectively, both turning to look over to where their Boss was. The infamous mobster looked liked he was embroiled in a fierce argument with a certain woman, a small and rather brash looking dame with frizzy hair that was a bold shade of red. She was dressed to the nines in what had undoubtedly be highly fashionable in her heyday, and had a distinct aura of determination about her. Marianne was struck not only by the sheer difference in size between the two, but noted that the small woman was in no way cowed by the sight of the snarling Mob Boss. In fact, she seemed almost amused. Marianne grinned.  _My kind of woman._  

“We should have never told her that he was going to be out on the floor tonight,” Thang muttered dolefully.  

“ _You_  told her that, I know when to keep my mouth shut.” Stuff retorted.

Marianne rapped a knuckle on the bar’s counter, trying to recapture their attention. “ _Guys!_  C’mon, who is she? She must be someone pretty impressive, I’ve never seen Mister Big Bad Boss Man looked so defeated.”

“Better not let the Boss hear you say that,” Stuff muttered.

“That’s Griselda,” Thang explained to Marianne, sidling closer to her to whisper, as though there was any danger of Bog overhearing. “She’s the head cook at the café a couple blocks from here. You know,  _The Plum and Pudding_?”

“The one that’s under Mister King’s protection?” Marianne quirked her head curiously. “Is this a business dispute then?”  She hadn’t thought Bog would be the type to extort little old ladies, and felt almost…disappointed at such news.  _Not the first guy who you’ve been wrong about -_

“More like a desperately unwanted social call,” Stuff groaned, before leaning to murmur to Marianne. “Griselda is the Boss’s mother. Her café should have gone under years ago, but he keeps it running for her, pays for everything. As long as it keeps her out of his hair, he’ll do it.”

Marianne’s mouth nearly dropped open at that. Bog had family! Although, fair enough, that shouldn’t have been so shocking, everyone had family. But still, who would have thought…

She looked over at the two of them, Bog fiercely scowling and lean and towering over the short, rather shlumpy woman who was smiling at him like he was an absolute pip.  _So much for family resemblance._

“So he looks after her?” Marianne asked softly, feeling her former disappointment melt away under the unexpected news. She knew all too well the task of keeping family out of ones hair, and suspected that there were many who would have simply shunted Mother Dearest into some two-bit boarding house, especially in such rough times. And here was the Big Bad Boss Bog, providing money so that his mother could continue working…

Marianne felt a little glow of warmth at the thought. Viciously infamous mobster or not, that was simply sweet.    

Stuff snorted. “Yeah, and she tries to look after him, unfortunately.” She wagged her head over to them. “Take a gander.”

Marianne looked over her shoulder once more, eyes widening as she saw Griselda wave over a willowy looking blonde who looked like she had walked right off a pulp cover with the slinky black number she was wearing. Between her natural height and the heels she wore, the woman was tall enough that she didn’t have to lift her head to look at Bog when she greeted him, Griselda beaming between the two.

Marianne felt a strange sensation in her gut when she took in the blatantly coy look the dame gave him, her pink lips pursed in a seductive fashion. Bog replied back tersely, his jaw clenching in a manner that suggested he was only just barely controlling in his temper, and the look he slid his mother’s way was positively poisonous. 

That did little to abate the unpleasant clench of Marianne’s stomach, one that only grew when the blonde moved closer, flipping a wave of silky hair over one slim shoulder. When she reached out a gloved hand to teasingly touch at the mobster’s arm, Marianne’s eyes narrowed.  _Quit being so handsy._

She blinked, the venom in her thoughts surprising her, and she shook her head slightly to focus. “So she likes playing matchmaker?” Marianne murmured to Stuff and Thang, her eyes still on Bog as he deliberately leaned back to avoid the blonde’s over-familiarity, his expression positively thunderous. “He doesn’t seem to be all that thankful for it.”

Not that she blamed him, honestly. Hell, she had had to deal with her own father’s persistence in wanting her to give Roland a second chance, never mind his other vain attempts to have her meet with respectable fellows, ones he deemed capable to coax his rebellious daughter back into courtship and high society.

“The Boss doesn’t do dames,” Stuff said bluntly, cutting through Marianne’s thoughts. “Griselda always tries to get him interested, but no dice. She must have brought a dozen gals through here, but he stays away from that stuff, says it distracts from business.” The tone of her voice was a mix of approval and exasperation.

Marianne tilted her head at that, her earrings swinging gently. Bog was a solitary guy, true. In all her time at The Dark Forest, Marianne had only see him emerge from his office to leave for business and to occasionally watch the show, grimly nursing a drink away in a dark corner. He wasn’t one for crowds or people in general, but…so many mobsters were all too happy to have molls dripping off their arms. Dames were as much of a symbol of power as flash cars and rivers of booze were, and many gangsters thought nothing of having some pretty little things at their beck and call for easy pleasure. It was a fact that Marianne knew all too well, thinking back to Roland and gritting her teeth. 

And here was the most powerful one of all, not even the least bit tempted? Not mixing business with pleasure was one thing, but the sheer distaste Bog was currently showing at his mother’s meddling had Marianne wondering if there was another reason why he avoided girls…

Thang let out a piteous little moan, bringing Marianne back to reality. “Oh dear, she brought more than one tonight! Oh, he’s going to be in the _worst_ mood after this –“

Marianne and Stuff looked to where Thang had pointed a dramatic finger, and sure enough, there was a redhead and a brunette behind the blonde, murmuring to each other and eyeing Bog, Marianne thought rather with a rather tetchy edge, like dock-rats spotting some cheese.

“At least she’s got a variety now,” Stuff grumbled, leaning gloomily on the bar.

Marianne quirked a brow at them. “He doesn’t have a type?”

Thang gave a thoughtful little hum. “Well, there  _was_  that one girl, when he was first getting started-“

 _“Thang,”_  Stuff said, a warning clear in her voice.

Thang immediately shrank, his eyes going wide. “But, uh, that was long ago and we shouldn’t even be thinking about that, not at all –“

Marianne was caught between curiosity over Thang’s earlier words and watching Bog and the would-be-molls. The blonde had retreated; a sour look on her face, and now Griselda was bringing forth the redhead, curvy hips swaying and eyes fluttering. Bog slumped against a table, looking thoroughly put upon, and there was an unmistakable look of desperation and discomfort glinting in his eyes.

Marianne would have been tempted to laugh had she not been in the same situation numerous times, trapped by a well meaning parent’s intentions, forced to deal with unwanted swains. She gave a delicate snort and lifted her drink to her lips. Heck, even without her father, the catcallers at the club had Marianne on her guard, and these ladies looked just as determined as those louts had been.  

_He helped you out with that last time, didn’t he?_

Marianne paused at that, her drink halting a few scant inches from her mouth. She hadn’t asked him to, of course, and she could take care of herself, but…he  _had_  helped get those creeps off her back. And now here he was, trying to deal with the same unwanted attention…

Marianne set her drink down and looked over her shoulder at him, softly biting at her lip in thought.  _Hardly seemed fair that he shouldn’t get the same rescue._

Before she knew what she was doing, she slid off her seat and began to walk over to where the small group was. “Stuff, keep my drink cold for me, alright? I need to have a few words with Mister King.” She called over her shoulder, steadfastly ignoring how her heart was beginning to thump.

Stuff and Thang exchanged baffled glances, before Stuff nodded slowly, arching a brow. “Uh, sure thing, Miss Marianne.”

Marianne continued on her way, keeping her eyes Bog. God, she hoped he wouldn’t be too out of sorts to not recognize what she was doing. She had been upset when he had tried to help with those catcallers and had nearly taken his head off before she had seen his earnest intentions.  _“There’s no shame in getting some help every now and then, Fairfield.”_  

It was true enough, now she just had to see if he would recall such a sentiment when he was the one in need of help…

She neared them and her gut gave one last little nervous jolt.  _Right, time to play the rescuer._ She tossed her head and called out, “Mister King!

The party of people turned to her, Bog’s eyes going wide and his mother looking at this new little lady curiously, her beady eyes taking her in from head to toe. The three dames shot her unfriendly looks, as if she was a potential threat. Marianne almost snorted.  _Lord, never get in the way of a wanna be Femme Fatale._

Instead she gave them a gracious smile, which she then turned on Bog’s mother. “I’m terribly sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Marianne Fairfield –“

“Oh! The new singer!” The small woman brightened, her eyes lighting up. “Oh honey, I’ve heard so much about ya! Bringin’ in all sorts of dough for my boy with your voice, huh? Ain’t you sweet, helpin’ him out so –“

Marianne laughed, both abashed and warmed by the enthusiastic praise. “Well, it’s just my job.” Bog was watching her, torn between irritation and confusion, but Marianne merely ignored him. “And you are…?”

“Griselda,” cooed the older woman, taking Marianne’s hands and patting them warmly. “Pleasure ta meet ya at last, doll. I hope my boy’s been treating ya right.” She shot an amused glance at her son. “’Course ya would forget to mention she was as pretty as a picture!”

The other women scowled at that, and Bog’s cheeks flushed inexplicably before his eyes narrowed. “Mother,  _not now_  –“

“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting,” Marianne cut in, shooting Bog a pointed look, “but I needed a word with Mister King.”

Griselda waved at them cheerfully. “Aw, go on, go talk shop! We ain’t going anywhere,” she grinned, gesturing to the women, who quickly returned to flirtatious smiles and smolders.

Bog’s scowl grew even fiercer at that, and with a barely heard mutter of  _“That’s what I’m afraid of,”_ he pushed himself off the table and nodded at Marianne to lead the way, and she quickly walked them over to where the band was setting up for another song, Sunny ordering the other musicians around.

Bog raised a brow at her, cool and grim as ever, though she was absolutely positive she could see his shoulders become less tense at the momentary reprieve. “What’s going on, Fairfield?”

“A rescue attempt.” Marianne smirked at his befuddled stare, and shrugged a shoulder where Griselda waited for them. “I owe you for that thing with the handsy patron. Figured I could return the favor and help you with Mother Dearest.”

Bog’s eyes widened before narrowing at her, his mouth getting thin. “Don’t you start getting cute with me, Fairfield, you have no idea what kind of stuff my mother pulls –“

“Stuff filled me in,” Marianne shot back. “I’m trying to help you, you idiot. Now all you have to do is go back to your mother and say that I told you some business has come up!”

Bog scowled at her, gritting his teeth. “You think I didn’t try that already? I did it before, but Mother’s cottoned on. Now she calls ahead to see if there’s anything going down.” He shot a glare over to the bar, and out of the corner of her eye Marianne saw Thang shrink a bit, his already short body sinking even closer to the floor. Bog let out a harsh sigh, his shoulders sinking. “There’s nothing to be done, Fairfield –“

“That’s quitting talk,” Marianne retorted, crossing her arms. “We just need to get creative.” She pursed her lips and her eyes wandered over the club for something that could spark her inspiration, and landed on Sunny as he sat down at his piano.  _Wait a minute._  “Sunny!”

Sunny looked up and gave her his usual smile, bright as his namesake. “Hey Marianne! Thought you’d be home by now.”

“Decided to stick around and see the action,” Marianne sauntered closer to the stage, Bog half-heartedly trailing after her. “Can you tell me the next song?”

Sunny cracked his knuckles with a groan and wiggled his fingers over the ivory keys. “ _I Fall In Love Too Easily_. Nice slow song for the lovebirds.”

“A slow number, huh?” Marianne turned back to Bog, pursing her lips and shooting him a knowing glance. “You  _know_  your mother is gonna push one of those women to dance with you.”

An undeniable look of panic crossed Bog’s face. “Goddammit, I’ll shoot myself before –“

“Don’t be so theatrical,” Marianne said, rolling her eyes. “She’ll try it, but only if you remain free to do so. Easily fixed.” And with that, she held out a hand to him. “C’mon, Big Bad Boss Man.”

Bog blinked at her, looking from her hand to her face, and Marianne had to squelch a chuckle at the sheer confusion on his face. She wiggled her fingers at him, ignoring Sunny’s own wide-eyed look of surprise, and a hint of a smile crept into her voice, teasing and gentle. “Don’t worry, I promise it won’t bite.”

Realization hit him, and his eyes widened. “Wait, are y-Fairfield,  _the point is to avoid dancing-!”_

“No, the point is to avoid dancing with one of those women,” Marianne interrupted, placing her hands on her hips and giving him a cross look. “If you try to leave now, your mother will simply hunt you down and make you pay for it later. If you dance with  _them_ , she’ll keep pushing for more. If you dance with  _me_ , it’s just a dance.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I promise not to sully your fine reputation, if that’s what’s got you in a twist.”    

Bog opened and closed his mouth in incredulous, helpless anger, when suddenly the band struck up a slow, drawling melody. Couples immediately started heading to the dance floor, already twining arms around each other, sinking into the smooth tones of the trumpet and piano. Marianne cleared her throat delicately and pointed to where his mother was. Bog gave an undeniable gulp when he saw that she had gathered the females, pointing towards him.

Marianne arched a brow at him. “Still wanna take your chances?”

There were only a few more moments of hesitation before Bog exhaled wearily, the broad line of his shoulders slumping. The look he gave her was resigned. “You truly think just a dance would do it?”

Marianne grinned and once more held out her hand to him. “Just a dance. Then we’re square.”

“We were square to begin with,” Bog grumbled, but he took her hand and led them over to the dance floor, his shoulders tense as people parted for them and whispers began to blossom over the sight of the formidable mobster and the mysterious chanteuse apparently deciding to share a song.

Marianne ignored them and glanced over at Griselda and the three women. Griselda looked shocked and thrilled, beaming and clapping her hands together, but as for the three women…oh, if looks could kill, she’d be sleeping with the fishes by now.

Marianne resisted the urge to laugh and instead focused on Bog, who seemed determined to take his time getting to the dance floor, twining around tables and chairs and couples. “You know, they don’t look all that horrible,” she said frankly. “And they seemed pretty eager to know you.”

“I don’t have any time to waste on some dame thinking she’s some Femme Fatale,” Bog retorted, his voice dismissive as he casually kicked a chair out of their way. “Besides, they’re all just sharks – they want the power that comes from being with a Mob Boss, nothing more. Mother forgets that detail, but I don’t.”

Marianne wasn’t all too sure of that being the sole reason, but the bitter note in Bog’s voice convinced her not to say that. But even as they made their way to the dance floor, Marianne saw how some of the women were eyeing Bog, their eyes traveling up his tall, leanly strong form, lingering at his broad shoulders and the scars on his face in a way that had nothing to do with any kind of trepidation.

Bog wasn’t the oil painting of masculine good looks that Roland was, but there was a definite… _appeal_  to him, and Marianne knew she wasn’t alone in seeing it. Between the scars and the scowl and the perpetual air of menace that clung to him, everything about Bog spoke of danger. There was an undeniable allure to that for some women.

And then there were those eyes of his, the blue of them never failing to be utterly striking no matter how many times they had flashed to Marianne’s in irritation or surprise…

Marianne set her jaw and concentrated on following him. Not that she paid any attention to that sort of thing…

They finally reached the dance floor, and Bog paused before they actually stepped onto it. He turned to face her, and she saw genuine worry flash across his face. “You know, you do this, and there’s gonna be rumors. People like to talk –“

“I’m used to people talking about me,” Marianne interrupted, and gave him a tiny little poke to get him to move. “I can take care of them, and myself. Just promise to not step on my toes and we should be fine.”

Bog snorted, stepping out onto the floor and leading her once more. “I can dance,” he said dryly, “I just hate to. Bloody waste of time.”

Marianne gave a little hum of agreement, ignoring the memory of how  _happy_  she had felt cradled in Roland’s arms as they shared the first of many dances, how blissfully she had lost herself to imagining their first dance as husband and wife. God, she had been such a love-struck fool. “Bloody waste of time,” she echoed in agreement, her tone quiet and bitter. “No wonder people do it when they’re in love.”

Bog glanced at her sharply, before he gave a sardonic little smile, a commiserating glint to those bright blue eyes. “Preaching to the choir with that, Fairfield.”

She smirked back at him, and was just about to engage in some more witty banter when suddenly she was being pulled closer, right next to him,  _oh my goodness_  –

“Still,” Bog said casually as Marianne tried desperately not to let her surprise and panic show as his large hand palmed her back, gently holding her close, “it’s a right pain that so many good songs are about it.” When she looked up at him confusedly, he looked away, an inexplicable flush to his cheeks. “Love, that is. Way to ruin a good melody, ain’t it?”

Marianne stared up at him with wide eyes and tried to think of something to say, anything to say, something that would help her not focus on the fact that,  _oh yes_ , a key part of dancing was letting your body get quite close to someone else’s, and right now she was  _very_  close indeed to her boss, the hard lean line of his body pressing against her –

“Yeah…” she said, a bit breathlessly, and ducked her head. What was the  _matter_  with her? She tossed her hair and then concentrated on the melody of the band, Sunny getting ready to sing. “Though I got to admit…this one isn’t  _too_  awful…”

They both lapsed to silence as Sunny began to croon into the microphone, the dull silver and black gleaming gold in the dim light of the club…  

 _“I fall in love too easily,  
_ _I fall in love too fast…”_

Marianne listened with a soft smile that was tinged with cynical acceptance. A love song about the pitfalls of love…and here were all these sweethearts and lovebirds dancing to it, losing themselves to the very danger it spoke of. The sheer irony of it all made her want to both chuckle and cry…

 _“I fall in love too terribly hard,  
_ _for love to ever last…”_

Bog gave an exhale that could have been a laugh. The one-sided smile he gave Marianne when she looked up at him curiously was the softest expression she had ever seen on his sharp face, and his eyes burned blue in the low light.

“Funny thing, isn’t it?” He said, his voice low and softly rough under the gentle wave of music, and Marianne couldn’t help but notice how lovely his accent was right then, the gentle brogue brushing over her ears like rough cashmere. He tilted his head to the other couples on the floor, arms twining about each other, heads sinking against shoulders. “Here’s all these fools dancing to this song, and it’s bloody telling them not to.”

Marianne smiled at how similar their thoughts ran and shrugged a shoulder. “Fools rush in. And everyone’s a fool for love.”

“Not me,” Bog retorted, his voice certain and his eyes warm as he looked at her.

“Thank goodness I’m in good company,” Marianne teased, and he chuckled at that, his hand moving up her back a bit as they moved to the music, soft and slow.  _Guess he can dance after all._  Strange what counted as dancing, some simple swaying and steps. Although a song like this was meant more for letting bodies press close and intimate then showing off any dance skills.

Now that she thought of it, that was probably why Roland had always preferred fast numbers, a chance for him to show off his flashy moves, dipping her and tugging her around the floor. She had laughed as she let herself be led by him, exhilaration and love making her breathless, happy to let him control her so. She had thought it lovely that he had loved the adrenaline and rush as she did.  _When really all he wanted to do was make you too dizzy to see him for what he was._

 _“My heart should be well-schooled,_  
_‘cause I’ve been fooled in the past…_  
_But still I fall in love so easily  
_ _I fall in love too fast…”_

Marianne closed her eyes at that.  _Enough._  She had to stop letting that pain –  _him_  – control her, overwhelm her. She had given him too much time already. She was done with him, with all of love. She had been well-schooled in that pain, and she was a diligent student. 

The trumpet and piano once again took over, and Marianne found, to her slight surprise, that any remaining nerves had left her. This was…actually quite nice. It had been so long since she had been able to simply sink into some music, let her body relax in the thrall of some smoky melody.

Have someone hold her close…

Someone whose fingertips just barely brushed the skin of her back as he guided her, whose other hand let her fingers twine with his, someone who was warm and strong, so easy to lean against…

Somewhere deep in her mind a little voice was making a hell of a fuss, screaming about how  _dangerous_  this was, but Marianne found it was easy to ignore it in favor of letting song wash over her. There was nothing to worry about, it was just a dance. It was just a dance and it was just Bog. 

Bog, who she could always trust to be cynical and sharp and no fool for love, blunt and harsh and never lying to her as Roland had…

Marianne eyes were growing heavy, the smoky tune and the warmth of him soothing her to the point of drowsiness, and she didn’t even think when she let her cheek sink against his chest. She hoped he wouldn’t mind –

His hand pressed her closer in gentle encouragement, and Marianne’s eyes closed in soft gratitude, the music continuing to weave its intoxicating magic over her. It had been so long, too long…

She just wanted to be held…

She knew curious eyes were on them, but she simply focused on merely enjoying the music, just the music, not the warm, heavy pressure of his hand at her back, not how she was tucked against his body, certainly not how he smelled, smoke and bourbon and something else, maybe it was cologne…? Something earthy, mossy, almost  _wild_ …

Without thinking, she nuzzled a bit into his embrace, trying to place just what that scent was. She felt him give a slight inhale, and immediately a spiral of unease went through her. Was she – was that too -?

Then –

She felt something brush the top of her head, the gentle bump of his nose at her hairline, his stubble softly rasping at her skin as his lips –

Marianne pulled back, her heart thudding wild and loud as she looked up at him, and their eyes met -

\- and suddenly nothing else mattered, everything fading into the background, the stares of the club goers made meaningless, everything hazy but for brilliant hazel and soul-piercing blue…

It was just them, just them and their hands growing warm against each other, drowning in the others gaze, their bodies melding and moving together to the song –

Which had stopped.

People were staring, the thrum of their whispering like curious bees –

Bog realized the same time she did, and they looked at each other, eyes wide and -

And suddenly they were backing away from each other, dropping hands like they were hot coals. Marianne smoothed her hands down her dress, her cheeks the same vivid rose of the satin, and while Bog adjusted his tie and jacket, looking like he was desperately trying to come back to reality with very little success.

Marianne could hardly dare to look at him, but oh Lord, she had to say  _something_  –

“ _Uh,_ ” she said articulately, and winced as he looked at her sharply. “That was…”

Bog nodded slowly, looking as torn and muddled as she felt. “Yeah…” He cleared his throat. “Uh, good rescue attempt.”

Marianne blinked at him. “Rescue attempt -?  _Oh!_  Oh, yeah, right! That…” She hastily looked over to where the wanna-be molls were and prayed her blush wouldn’t deepen. “Yeah, I think it was…pretty successful…”  _Oh God, oh good Lord, why was she so flustered, why -?!_

She ran a hand through her locks, desperately ignoring the memory of his lips brushing over them, of how she had pressed against him so _intimately_  –

She bit her lip. “I…it’s getting late, I should get going –“

Bog quickly nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets as if he had no idea what to do with his hands. “Right, yes, of course –“

“Well, uh…” Marianne floundered, and looked up at him.  _Oh God, bad idea, his eyes were still so –_

“Bye!” She said quickly, and then turned on her heel to rush off the floor, almost tripping over the hem of her dress in her haste, her entire being in a state of utter turmoil. 

The three ladies who Griselda had brought were huffily making their way to the entrance of the club, tugging on their coats and clearly eager to leave after what they had just witnessed. They all gave her dirty looks as she passed, but Marianne wasn’t even paying enough attention to ignore them. She couldn’t believe she had - that had been – it was –

It had been just a dance, just one simple little dance to some silly love song – she hadn’t been risking anything, nothing at all - it was just Bog, just a dance -

_Then why was her heart racing…!?_

Marianne’s heels clicked as she hastily escaped the club, running from something she couldn’t even begin to think about.

Bog watched her go, rooted to the dance floor as surely as if vines had trapped him there. His heart felt inexplicably tight in his chest, an odd, throbbing feeling seizing it. That had been…she had…

Something…something had happened, something he couldn’t even try to explain, the music stealing over the both of them, weaving around them in a soft and dangerous spell…

_Goddamn him, she had felt so damn **good**  in his arms…_

Bog exhaled hard and quickly strode off the dance floor, the other patrons hastily moving out of his way. He needed a drink, he needed a goddamn drink  _right now_ –

“Boggy!” Griselda hurried up to him on her short little legs. Her company of three had abandoned her, but she didn’t seem too upset. In fact, she looked positively delighted. “Honey, that was so  _romantic!_  I  _knew_  you could be charmer when ya wanted ta be!”

Bog closed his eyes and picked up the pace. Of  _course_  she would have stuck around to hound him some more. “Not  _now,_  Mother –“  

“Your father was the same way, he could cut a rug too -!”

Bog snarled as he stepped up to the bar. “Ma,  _enough_  –“ 

Griselda followed him, blithely continuing her chatter. “I wish ya had told me that you and her were sweethearts! I get keeping her safe what with your business, but really, if I had known there was already someone, I wouldn’t have pushed Maxine or Felicia or any of those gals on ya! I hoped she wasn’t too angry, no wonder she stepped right in–!”

“Mother,  _Fairfield_  is the singer here, nothing more,” Bog growled, and he rapped his knuckles on the bar, glaring murderously. A single glass of booze shot down to him across the black lacquered surface, and he grabbed it in a gesture made deft from repetition. He leveled a hard stare at Griselda. “There’s nothing going on between us. It was just a dance.”

She immediately pursed her lips, looking unimpressed. “ _Huh_. Ya keep telling yourself that, honey. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to powder my nose.” She turned on her heel and marched through the crowd.

Bog glared after her and took a swig from his drink. “It  _was_ …” he muttered sourly, and then looked down into his glass, the dim light of the club catching in the amber liquid, making it glow…

Her eyes had shone the same way, warm and clear and golden, gazing up into his, cradled in his arms…

_Goddammit._

He repeated his words once more, his voice softly desperate. “It was just a dance…”

**Author's Note:**

> The song in this fanfic is the absolutely beautiful “I Fall In Love Too Easily”, sung by Chet Baker. I swear to God, as soon as I heard it, I clutched my heart and went “This is so Mob Boss!Bog and Chanteuse!Marianne it hurts.”


End file.
